


Spell

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 06:51:17
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13945659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: This idea popped into my mind after seeing the trailers. But I also wanted to try out @wtfmulder‘s suggestion to add an absurd line into an otherwise normal fic. Hopefully, you can spot it!





	Spell

He’s feeling it. That buzz, tingle, fluttering. Anticipation. It’s a drug. It’s better than a drug. The knowledge that your years of studying the arcane and the grotesque, of scouring the line between worldly and other, of leaping beyond all reason only to find an answer so preposterous that it leaves you breathless, is an enchantment. He lives for being in the thrall of a case.

Seeing Scully at her sceptical best, seeing her eye and lip roll game lift a notch, is as wild a thrill as seeing the cryptid or the EBE or the blood sucking goat. He’s long since given up the need to see, it’s all about the bizarre clues, about viewing the world through the other lens, about the chase, the ‘I told you so’ debates, about expounding the outlandish theories just so he can hear his own incredible work spoken out loud.

And it’s always about having Scully at his side. His homie. Yeah, she’s an evidence-seeking, proof-needing scientific Google machine. But she’s also his heartbeat, his nourishment. This time round, she’s softer. There are worn patches in the fabric of her rationalism. She’s readier too. The seizure, the visions, Jackson and his odd abilities, has ensured that Scully 2.0 is slowly coming open.

This case has its roots in the ancient but she’s already convincing him that the answers are to be found in the contemporary. He considers how her red hair would have had her burnt at the stake in days of yore, and he entertains the image of her bound and aflame, casting spells and cursing valiantly as she goes down. He decides that when they get back, he’ll start a new cross-stitch with that very image; he’s already working out the patterning as she opens the door to get in the car.

“Have I told you today you’re hot?” he whispers as she leans towards him to fasten her seatbelt.

“Mulder, what’s gotten into you? I’d say you’re under some kind of spell, if I didn’t think it would turn you on so much.”

He laughs. She’s not far off the mark. “What spell would you cast, Scully?”

Her finger traces the length of his thigh and he hardens in an instant. She knows it, tucks that bottom lip behind her teeth and breathes through her nostrils. “I think I’ve already done that, Mulder.”

And he knows it.


End file.
